He gave me an appraising glance. “Good catch. Humans were the first to settle here, ages ago. They named these islands and villages, but they did not bring their gods with them. The folk didn’t find the Isles until many years later.”
“Where are all the humans now?”
“Most developed wanderlust and left, though a handful remained. Their descendants are still here.”
I looked around at the crowd, indeed spotting a small number of humans amongst the folk. There were also plenty of elves, dwarves, pixies, fire demons, and shadow demons. Unease whispered through me at the sight of the horned creatures. They reminded me far too much of Isveig and his loyal court of giants, even if they were shorter of stature.
Swallowing, I tried to school my features into a mask of calm, but somehow Rivelin saw through it. “If you’re looking for one of Isveig’s ice giants, you’re out of luck. None of them have ever reached this place.”
“How disappointing.”
Suddenly, a hush went through the crowd, and a tall, golden-haired elf clad in a breezy purple gown clapped her hands. She moved to the center of the square as the harp’s song cut off and addressed the gathered residents—and visitors—of Wyndale with a beaming smile.
Rivelin leaned closer and whispered into my ear. “That’s Hofsa, Gregor’s mother.”
She looked like she could be as young as twenty with her smooth, clear skin and those bright sunlit eyes. And when she spoke, her voice was as soothing as the sound of a trickling stream. “Thank you, everyone, for gathering here at our annual opening ceremony to signify the beginning of our Midsummer Games!”
Cries of cheer spilled through the crammed market square. A pink-winged pixie beside me lifted a ribbon above her head, bouncing on her toes. From somewhere nearby, someone tossed rose petals into the air. They rained down, kissing my skin with a soft caress, so unlike the poisonous waters of the sky.
Hofsa waited a moment and let the cheers die down. And then she continued, “As always, fate will decide the lucky seven who will participate in this summer’s Games, all to win the coveted gift from our blessed island. If you’d like to put forth your name, please line up to give your blood to Freya.”
Blood? I glanced up at Rivelin, my stomach twisting.
Beneath my breath, I whispered, “You didn’t tell me I’d have to do this.”
“You don’t,” he said. “I’m the one participating. You’re just my assistant.”
Rivelin moved off through the crowd, following the others who wanted to volunteer. At least thirty hopefuls lined up to make the sacrifice, Rivelin sandwiched between a dwarf with a long braided beard and a shadow demon who somehow managed to sport a grumpier expression than even Rivelin.
There was little for me to do other than watch the procession. Each potential participant stepped up to the stone statue, cut their palm, and then spilled their blood on Freya’s bare feet. It didn’t take long for everyone to get through it, and soon, Rivelin started back to my side. Truth be told, I’d expected far more people to present themselves. Why would anyone want to turn down the chance to compete for a gift like that? It wasn’t as though the Games were dangerous. No fighting, no killing, no threat.
Rivelin squeezed through the crowd and stood beside me, edging a little closer when a few whispers went through the crowd. They’d finally noticed me, then—the outsider from the Grundstoff Empire. At least I wasn’t wearing my armor with Isveig’s sigil stamped into my shoulder. I imagined that wouldreallyget them talking.
“All right!” Hofsa clapped again. “You have all made your sacrifices to our blessed goddess. She will now choose who is worthy to compete in this year’s Midsummer Games. Probably best for you all to spread out a little.”
I opened my mouth to ask Rivelin why we’d need space when a flame suddenly burst from the top of an elf’s head just in front of me—a woman who had been in the line. The flames consumed her brilliant red hair, but then they died in an instant, leaving behind nothing but a black smudge on her forehead.Magic.And it was the ancient magic of the Old Gods, the kind that didn’t need Galdur sand. The island—or Freya’s spirit—truly was choosing the participants for these Games.
The elf folded her arms and beamed. “It’s about damn time I got chosen.”
A flurry of fires ripped through the crowd, too fast for me to track every one, but I did spot a burly elven man with golden hair just to the left of Hofsa, who caught flame. His eyes were locked on my face, and when he saw me looking, he winked and smiled. From beside me, Rivelin let out a low growl.
Something about that sound sent a flutter through my belly.
Clearly, that was Gregor. I turned toward Rivelin to announce that I could, in fact, take care of myself, thank you very much, but his flaming head stopped the words from leaving my tongue. Relief shuddered across his face as the mask of disinterest—or gruffness, really—momentarily collapsed to show the truth of his emotions. He almost lookedpainedby his relief.
But then the furrowed brow returned. He folded his arms and ignored the applause that followed. I couldn’t stop watching him, even as Hofsa droned on about the start of the Games and everything it entailed. I wanted to see another slip, another hint as to what, exactly, was going on inside his head.
I’d known he wanted to participate. From my perspective, anyone would, which was why the low number of volunteers made little sense to me. But Rivelin—he was desperate. He wanted this with every fiber of his being. Luckily for both of us, so did I.
10
DAELLA
Once the ceremony was over, the crowd’s exuberance only surged more. Music piped through the small market square, and the dancing began. Everyone split into groups, chattering and laughing the morning away. Rivelin, on the other hand, led me to the side of a building where he leaned against the rough timber wall and just stood there staring off into the distance.
I propped my hands on my hips, careful to avoid touching the ice shard, and cocked my head. “Is there a reason we’re lurking in the shadows instead of mingling with everyone else?”
“I’m waiting for my sister. She’ll be here soon, and then we’ll get started on making our boat.” His voice was dull—bored.
